Catharsis
by Diva Urd
Summary: Cleric Preston's thoughts after the final fight, as he experiences a brief, belated moment of doubt. Are emotions truly worth the risk of another war?


**Title:** Catharsis  
**Author:** Diva Urd  
**Beta:** Zelgadis55 (thank you!)  
**Pairing:** None  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Warnings:** Implicit violence  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the rights to "Equilibrium", and I do not pursue any financial gain with this fic.

_This fic was written as a response to the following challenge: "Your mission, if you chose to accept it (pretty please!) is to write 500 - 1000 words inspired by the word RESOLUTIONS."  
_   
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Catharsis

He stood tall, overlooking the monotonous skyline of the city; a silhouette now marred by smoke and flames where the drug manufacturing plants had once produced the shackles they had just shaken off. The blasts of explosions came to destructive bloom, incinerating millions of doses of Prozium, the most vital component of Libria's former regime.

The final fight was over, the image of Father purged from the uncountable screens and holographic emitters that could be found everywhere. Everything had been said and done. Now that the change he had strived for was inevitable, in the worst of all imaginable moments, Cleric John Preston experienced doubt.

Had his decision been the right one? Were they better off without the double-edged sword named Prozium? Would the nation descend into yet another devastating war, now that its citizens would regain all of their emotions?

Yes, Father, the fundamental leader of Libria, had been a lie for many years now – a facade for the ruthless regime that claimed for itself that which it would not allow its followers. But how many lives would be lost in the initial turmoil, until the effects of the Prozium wore off in everybody? There were still Clerics out there who would not hesitate to kill dozens, no, hundreds of people in a futile attempt to restore order.

However, thousands had died before them, simply for embracing their emotions and hoarding objects of art and beauty. He himself had dealt death to a substantial amount of them.

Guilt welled up in the former First Class Grammaton Cleric as he remembered his personal sins...

... watching passionlessly as his wife and the mother of his two children had been dragged out of their apartment...

... killing his partner, Cleric Partridge, with a headshot after he had quoted Yeats from a confiscated book...

... watching Mary O'Brien die a fiery death in the incineration chamber without being able to save her...

The pain was yet remote, numb with the exhaustion he still felt from the preceding battle. He knew by now, though, that the images would come back to haunt him at night, in his dreams. He would berate himself about not having realized the blatant flaws of an emotionless society earlier, although he knew intellectually that, without his victims' sacrifices, he would have never come to terms with his own emotions. Everything would have remained unchanged.

Should he not consider the living rather than the dead and the missed opportunities?

There were Robert and Lisa, his children. What was worse, growing up emotionless, to possibly become as ruthless an executor as their father had been, or risking the return of the hatred that had been the cause for the third world war?

Was there no compromise?

He knew enough about emotions to realize that they could be held in check without the aid of a drug – he had managed to purge them from his thinking when he had overpowered Father's guards. Could a precious, antique painting, dreaded EC-10 material, really be associated with the most negative of all emotions? Couldn't hatred be contained, while feelings like joy were permitted?

Mary, Partridge and his wife had thought so. He had to believe in the possibility, if only to honor their legacy – and to teach his offspring to deal with their emotions responsibly.

Yes, there would be crimes committed out of hatred or passion, he did not have a doubt about that. But would they reach the death toll the regime of Father had produced? Hardly.

And then, there were the positive emotions to consider, as well. Joy, love, a sense of belonging. People would be permitted again to love their families, their partners. It was allowed to lose oneself in a book, or to admire a particularly beautiful piece of music. Wasn't this freedom worth the risk?

Yes.

The thought came instantly, without hesitation.

Yes. The freedom to feel was worth it. It was worth everything.

John Preston looked down upon Libria, and after a moment, his lips curved into a smile.

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There we go, my first EQ fanfic. I hope it came out halfway decent! Comments appreciated!  



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